


Game Time

by Churbooseanon



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Churbooseanon/pseuds/Churbooseanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connie and Wash have their own little games, with their own rules, and she cheats. Sequel-ish to Seduction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game Time

“You actually going to remember the rules this time, Connie?” Wash asks as he tugs on the almost too tight t-shirt she calls his ‘boy bait’ and he prefers to think of as the ‘Saturday special.’

“I always _remember_ the rules, Wash,” she comes back with a chuckle as she sits on the edge of his bed and kicks her legs back and forth. “It’s a question of whether I remember the _loopholes_ you’ve yet to close.”

“Cheater,” he accuses.

“Absolutely,” she agrees, grinning in predatory way she gets whenever they’ve got a fifty on a bet that she’s certain she’s going to walk away with.

Wash resists the urge to groan because dammit, when she’s certain she’s going to win, she usually does. Granted, he’ll be able to close yet another loophole in their rules and agreements, and someday he’s going to find his way around all of them so he’ll actually win. Because without her new and creative ways to cheat he would have taken her for all she was worth long ago.

And they both know it.

* * * * * *

The rules are simple, for all that they are growing numerous.

Rule one: Whoever gets the most points wins.

Rule two: One point for each unique phone number they net.

Rule three: Two points for a phone number they get from a person who rejected the other.

Rule four: After play all numbers must be called. Any wrong numbers result in minus one point. No answer means point is accepted as a scoring number.

Rule five: Three points for getting York drunk enough to kiss a player. These can only be awarded once.

Rule six: Fifty points if a Freelancer other than South, Florida, or York grab a player’s ass while dancing.

Rule seven: Forcing a Freelancer hand to a player’s ass by force does not count.

Rule eight: Daring a drunk York kiss a player does not count. Drunk York takes all bets.

Rule nine: Players must seek each other out for scoring thirty minutes before departure.

Rule ten: Do not interfere with Florida’s long standing seduction of Wyoming. Players who do forfeit current round of play.

Rule eleven: Do not tell Florida about the game. Players who do forfeit all rounds of play.

Simple rules, really. They started with three. Evolved to four the time Connie brought back some fake numbers that Wash only barely recognized as all in her own handwriting. Hit five when York had nearly kissed Connie only to be stopped by a more sober North, who was a constant frustration to the field of play. Hit six and seven on the same night when Connie had suggested six and immediately cheated around it requiring seven. Eight had become an ‘of course’ moment when Florida had dared a drunken York to dance shirtless on the bar and York hadn’t even hesitated. Nine had occurred when Connie had gone and spent a night with someone she got a number from, he found the numbers, and burned them all in a rage, ruining their game. Ten and eleven had happened after a recent talk when they had realized they had missed something important because Florida was just _that_ good. Even they hadn’t picked up on that over the course of several months until Connie had gotten lucky and seen the way Florida had eyed Wyoming’s ass coming out of the shower.

Someone that good would just ruin the fun.

* * * * * *

“Why do you do that?” York asks, slurs really, and Wash looks up from the only slightly alcoholic drink he was taking between goes at the dance floor.

“Do what?” Wash asks smiling, tilting his head and smiling at York and wondering if he could get the three points this time.

“Dance like that.”

Wash doesn’t smile this time, tries very hard not to smile, because damn this was the first time York had noticed. It wasn’t quite into the score area, but it’s got a lot to do with an entirely different game he’s been playing for months. Okay, so maybe it’s a game York and North have been trying to play without understanding the right rules to it, but Wash has enjoyed it so far.

“I just like to move,” Wash purrs, amused at the way that the sound of it seemed to make York swallow hard and shift so his hips away so Wash can’t see something. Cute.

“You do it well.”

“I do,” Wash agrees. With that he pushes off the bar stool and smiles briefly before heading out into the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor.

And he wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’ll manage to make some progress on that game tonight as well.

* * * * * *

He smiles at the red-haired man as the napkin with his number passes into Wash’s hands, his seventh of the night and a two pointer from the way Connie had thrown her drink in his face ten minutes ago. Still, Wash smiles widely and waves his fingers in the small way he does when he earns himself some points before turning around and walking straight into another man.

No, not another man.

North.

“Hey,” he says, smiling up at the blond and trying very hard not to let how flustered he was escape.

“What was that?” North asks, his tone conversational but his smile something more.

“What was what?”

“You know exactly what I’m curious about,” North replies, his voice low in a way that Wash isn’t used to hearing so up close and dammit as much as he hates to admit it, it’s getting him a bit bothered.

“Seriously North, I don’t…”

There are lips on his, a hand on his ass and he can taste the alcohol on North’s tongue. His own hands come up, grab North’s hair, pulls him further down and into the kiss because he’s meant to do that for a long time, waited for the right moment, and the moment is on him whether it’s the one he chose or not. Another set of hands are on his ass almost immediately and he knows who they belong to even without having to look, leans back against the strong chest behind him, pulling away from North’s lips and bearing his neck and damn if York doesn’t go straight for it.

“What are you…” Wash asks, gasps as North’s lips hit the other side of his neck. “Fucking hell.”

“Been waiting too long for this,” York whispers against his neck as North bites the other side and Wash shudders between the close press of their bodies. “Too long.”

“Why?” he asks, because the game, both of the games, had been going so well. He already knew he was useless for tonight with this sort of attention on him.

It hits him suddenly.

“I’m going to kill Connie.”

North’s chuckling against his neck while York’s lips seize his and Wash plots how he’s going to avenge himself on the best wingwoman ever. Because if nothing else, she’s not getting that fifty.


End file.
